Unlikely
by AlFlowerrise
Summary: It's unlikely but it can work, it can work - Barry/Cynthia


**Unlikely**

(y_ou play like a child, a stupid, naïve child, and somehow it suits perfectly_)

Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon.

(Barry/Cynthia)

If you don't like this couple don't read! Thank you! :D

* * *

Lucas stares with round eyes; fists clenched and mouth half-open at the blond teenager with the abnormal clueless look on his face. Barry looks back, and as usual, he doesn't understand what makes Lucas this dumfounded and stiff, it's like he doesn't _want _to know, because it makes life easier, makeable, playing with the rules he came up with in his beginning.

"Can you repeat that?" Lucas asks with a pecking voice, stumbled on the words, like he doesn't want to ask, but _has to ask_, hence Barry is his friend and friends do that by unwritten law. The blonde looks up, his orange, sharp eyes is round, sparkling, so big and immature, so strong yet so vulnerable.

The problem is that you can never say that to him.

Barry rolls with his eyes, a manner he has started to perform more frequently, probably due to the fact that so many around him tend to misread him. "You listen as good as a sleeping Snorlax", he mutters, then smiles, and Lucas can't do anything but to wait for the upcoming that's expecting. Because he _heard _what Barry said, he only doesn't want to analyze the true content of the words' structure. Wants to be wrong, even though he knows that it's pointless.

He likes Barry. He really does. And sometimes he wonders how the hell that is possible when Barry acts like a child, does things because he _wants, _not because he needs, because _rules _are something you walk by, ignore, he runs even when he needs to stop hence time is something passable and he wants to squish life's many moments in a narrow timeline so he can achieve more (a pointless strategy because you loses the meaning of archiving your dreams).

And Barry will never _ever _understand that.

"Cynthia is hot", he repeats with that stupid grin that implies much more than Lucas even wants to believe. Cynthia is wrong, Cynthia is old, Cynthia is an adult while Barry still walks on the edge of childhood and adulthood and uses his childishness as an excuse for having fun.

And since no one (not even Lucas) can say to him that this is wrong, Cynthia is too mature and powerful, her eyes burn with confidence and determination and the blonde jester from Twinleaf Town can't control her. Why would she be interested in him? He couldn't give her anything; he is still young without responsibility, everything where she is not. When Lucas is browsing past the daily magazines – which he does, he's also a teenager that likes getting soaked by media's grasp – and notices her on the front page, it's obvious that she stands on a different ground, she's high and they're low. The small, narrowed eyes, the coolly smile, the blond hair and big chest, she's a damn _woman_ and Barry is completely floored by her. Nothing good could come out from that. Sure, Cynthia is hot, but she's not only hot, she's unreachable.

"Barry… Stop doing this", he pleads, not that it's going to work, but it feels better to confirm _his _stand in the poll than to leave it all to Barry. He looks up and tries to firm those orange eyes, but they're floating away, in the sky, in the dreams, where it's impossible to reach them.

He's serious. And that's so sad.

"Why should I? Come on; Cynthia is awesome. She's _gorgeous_", he exclaims and smiles widely, clenching his hand at one of his pokéballs. "And she's champion. Can it get better?"

Probably not. Only worse. Lucas shivers.

"She's not right for you", he tries to explain with a calm, mature voice, but it's pointless because his voice's hacking and that's only because he knows it's futile denying that trying to change Barry's opinions, it's like trying to scup down a Slugma in your stomach. It's impossible.

And still sad.

Barry rolls with his eyes once more, walks back and forth on the wet grass, trying to subdue his impatience. "Why tell me that? You're happy. You have Dawn. I have no one. And I like Cynthia. That's the truth."

Lucas signs, he knows that "Dawn" is a triumph card Barry likes to use to make him feel abortive and nasty. And he doesn't only know about the trick; he falls for it every time the blonde uses it in reality.

Barry can read his mind, maybe that's the reason why he always lose whatever they're fighting about.

But he got Dawn. Wonders if Barry is jealous because of that catch. Probably not. He has never seemed interested in the cute, pool-eyed girl with pink boots; the jealousy was created because Lucas had something Barry had not. He has the chance to love, feel, share something Barry would never understand. Lucas knows that the blonde doesn't understand that love has to be equal if he doesn't want it to rot and die like a withered amaryllis, he has to play with the rules, finding someone that _wants _him and _sees _him for what he is. Because Barry is wonderful, but he's hard to live with, because he moves faster (how that's possible) than he talks, he's very into himself, likes to joke, never serious, doesn't know the meaning of the word "patience", he gives more energy to his Pokémon training than to the socializing because the Pokémon League shines with an extraordinary glow in his eyes. Barry is Barry and he needs to find someone that sees him as "Barry", not annoying or tiresome or the ADHD-kid.

And Lucas is sure that Cynthia isn't that person.

But Barry isn't.

And that's only the beginning of the catastrophe growing in front of their eyes, nourished by the desires and wingless promises.

* * *

She hates blaming everything on honor. But that's the easiest way, with less tears spilled and promises unfulfilled.

* * *

Many people stats him as "too fraudulent" but that isn't true. He knows about rules, about laws, the only difference is that he won't let it consume him, transform him into an artless tree-trunk that's afraid of the invisible obstacles and content-less atomic bombs. He may be rash but he's not stupid, he admires life for what it is and doesn't drown in his own self-negations. Because it isn't worth it. It's never worth it.

The only thing that counts in life is "dreams". It's your dreams that make you move forward, with determination, not looking back and looking awry. And he doesn't care if Lucas is hesitant, because he'll never understand – (he has Dawn and Dawn is perfect, he doesn't need anything else.) And Barry wants the same, he wants to love, feel, and he can only do that with one specific person (one with golden curls and cat-sharp eyes.) Cynthia is perfect. She is genuine and powerful at the same time, she's hot and agential and calm. Has a sharp tongue; words are rolling well on her tongue, comes out well-structured with an underline of humor. She's many things, and that fits in a mixture that feels so completed.

She's Champion. She's the strongest trainer in Sinnoh and that's only adds to the flutter growling in his stomach. She's arrogant, always talks like she created knowledge from a wilted sprout. Treats him like a child, kid, like his knowledge lies on the level below the ground. And that is oh so damn _attractive_. He wants her. Despite how wrong it may be. She's gorgeous, perfect, an angel dressed in black and he so _want her_, want her to see him, praise him, wants everything she never gives him.

But one day, he thinks as he runs past Sunyshore City in order to fill his casket with badges from the gym-leaders, it will be different. Every day goes to training; he rises up with the sun to inure himself with peculiar habits when birds are circling around the head to irritate him, runs up and down hills, mountains, jumps in the cold sea to train long-distance with his Floatsel. Not because he wants muscles like a Machoke (he will always look like a stick ready for the breach no matter what he does), but to gain insight in the training his Pokémon is going truth. Wants to be _with _them, not only a commander that only wants strength and success (in form of badges) but also gain wisdom and evolving as a trainer. Because that's what Cynthia's stating as important and he agrees with her, and wants to show her that she's right and he understands that. But he can't just say that to her over a cup of coffee (sounding like a fan-boy that swallows the magazine due to lack of other entertainment), he must prove it in reality. And he's sure that when that day comes, reaching the brightest star in the sky, he will beat her in a battle. He wants to shove down her from the throne, not because he wants attention or even fame, but because it's only then she will be able to see his true potential.

"Come on Floatzel!" he exclaims and gets muddy water in his mouth. "Aqua Jet!"

It's about patience, Lucas always says, but he's wrong therefore his belief doesn't match everyone on the planet. And Barry doesn't want to hesitate, because time goes and Cynthia will walk farther and farther away from him.

She ages. And so does he. And so does time.

And so does the opportunities of this plane to leave the surface.

* * *

Golden eyes mixture with a palm of orange, round and open, still deep with a humble tone of passion (for his Pokémon, as for her.)

* * *

When he finally reaches the League, he has a strange flutter in his chest, moving up and down his spine, makes some of his burning engagement run through his fingers. He wonders if he's nervous but nah; that's a way too easy explanation to be true. It can't be true. Because he's born with the ability to not break down from a lost. He _wants _to win but doesn't really care if he loses, hence that's the way of life – you win, you lose, you always get better.

He can't be nervous for the battle. Even though it's the biggest one yet. But no, he thinks, inching his blonde hair. It's about her.

It's always about her, he notices. She has that effect; she's present, she's consuming, she's absolutely gorgeous.

And he wants her. That's why he's nervous. Yes.

He runs the doors to the interior corridor of the grand building and jogs past some fellow trainers that's panting and eagerly (almost desperately) discussing which strategy they're gonna use for the upcoming battle. When he pasts them he can't help but to smile a little; so naïve, so dependent on their own luck that they don't even know which strategy that best suits the future event. Pathetic.

_You're also pathetic, Barry, that want someone you can't have. _

But that's just negations. Negations of a belief that may seem true but age doesn't have to be an obstacle, you can climb over it. You don't have to make it bigger than it already is. Like Lucas.

When he reaches the café, he notices a green-haired young man that's busy sipping on a cup of coffee while he's browsing through some daily magazine. The boy doesn't seem all that confident and Barry has no idea what he is doing here. But Barry isn't the kind of person to stand back and let someone else shove him from behind, he walks forward and regrets it later. If there was something to regret.

He throws glances around the cramped room, hoping to find Cynthia but to no avail. The air is thick and tense; you could almost _feel _the eager and will to crush the forces the League has come up with. This is all about battling. He likes it that way. There's something immense, and almost explicable, no words can be heard; it's all about focusing, clenching into pokéballs and lips bitten in intense nervously.

"Excuse me", he asks the green-haired boy as he passes a couple of table to reach the counter. His loud, passionate voice breaks the silence and everyone's looking at him with confusion and distaste – he doesn't care. He never cares about other people's opinions, because in the end, people fight to become the best, to become superior and it's a game he'll never understand. There is no point. "Have you seen Cynthia around here?" he continues, trying to sound polite but the kid just stares at him and closes the paper.

"You've business with her?" he asks back, sounding like a professional businessman, contrasting completely to his childish hairstyle and big money-eyes.

Barry licks his lips, puts his hands in his pocket. Doesn't really know what to answer. Lie or truth; there's only two choices and unfortunate, the first one is the more conjectural one to have any progress. "Kind of", he murmurs as last.

"Uh, okay. She's probably in the library. It isn't as big as the one in Canalave City though", the boy starts rambling even though Barry didn't ask. "It's around the corner. You shouldn't miss it."

Barry rolls invisible with his eyes – what a total moron – as he leaves the boy with his coffee and walks into the library, that more looks like a cramped room for chit-chat than an actually library. He coughs as he closes the door; the air is even more dense here, and walks around trying to spot some blonde hair despite his own. The walls are filled with shelves made of birch-wood but they don't contain much books of importance, as in Canalave. He spots some Pokémon journals and nonfictions about field studies of Pokémon in different environments. And books with author he'd never heard of. He isn't that into books. He doesn't have the impatience to analyze the texts and tries to find the meaning with the book; it's complicated and doesn't suit with his dreams. Lucas likes books though. You can kind of tell that by just looking at him. He has those eyes; he wants to learn.

"Do you want something?" he later hears a voice, a feminine, smooth voice that makes his heart rise and fists clench. He turns his visage, trying to find the source, only to find out that those blonde curls are even more stunning in real life; those eyes even deeper – strawberry lips and smooth figure that make him wonder why she isn't engage yet. She should be. She's far too beautiful, pristine and unreal to remain single.

She's searching for someone. And maybe that "someone" is him. You never know.

But by the strange, slight upper class glance she gives him; he knows that she doesn't know that.

* * *

She cannot abuse the little naïve boy's vulnerable eyes and leave his heart on the shore. This is wrong, this is uncanny, chimerical – and absolutely _wonderful._

* * *

"Actually I was looking for you."

"Why?"

"Because I want to tell you something."

"You don't know me."

"I want to know you."

"I don't understand."

"I'll make you understand."

"I don't have time for this. Are you attempting of taking on the League?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's meet there. If you can get that far, that is."

"I will. I promise. And Cynthia?"

"Yes?"

"You're hot."

* * *

Gasping, falling, she doesn't even know what she does anymore.

* * *

The Elite Four doesn't even put on a fair fight, he thinks as he walks past the forth door into the Champion's chamber. Not that any of them are bad trainers, because they probably aren't, but they failed to comprehend his eager to win and passion for the battles. Aaron (the coffee-drinking dude by the way, he never saw that coming) even said after his Gliscor fell that Barry's strategy isn't complicated, isn't special, isn't unique, but it's passionate. He never gives up. Because he believes in this, he looks up and sees the stars, inhaling in and exhaling out; he sees the goal, where he wants to go.

And no one could _ever _stop him. Well, that was what he _thought_.

Before he meets his demise.

Where the wire circles around his throat; he falls completely, for the power, for the wisdom-

(For the ignite sparkle in her eyes.)

* * *

"You're hot", he says like he means like, like it's like that and she shouldn't care but she sure does. Cares about him.

* * *

"The winner is the Champion of Sinnoh, Cynthia", the referee exclaims, looking awfully delighted when he lifts the right flag. Barry frowns.

"You're good but you could always get better. You lack true skills", she mocks as she returns her Garchomp, teasing him, completely ignores that he's in love with her and she knows it as much as he does. Barry glaciates.

"I will come back", he says with burning eyes, right fist on his hips and his lips in a determinate line. "I will become stronger." She narrows her eyes and looks at him by the shoulder – upper class he remembers – as if he is just a little kid with scratch-wound on his knees. Barry falls.

But that doesn't mean he's going to give up. He's going to be stronger. For her. For him.

For everyone.

* * *

He leaves and so does her desire. He's weak. But when he returns it's back. He has that effect on him; he flours her totally with his enthusiastic passion for what he's doing.

* * *

He starts to visit her every week – a rather dumb movement since it disturbs his daily training scheme but he just doesn't care anymore. She's often sitting in the café with a book on the table, fluffy lips and narrowed eyes. At first she doesn't seem all that pleased with him being around, more so because he doesn't have the respect to leave her alone (he can't do that), because he's ruining the calm and peaceful nimbuses in the café. But he's not the one that really cares about irritating glares and lips reproachfully pointing down – he can change the factors, she only acts like this because she assures herself that he is something he's not. He may be too young on the papers, but he's not the one that stops by the feature called fate. No. So even though she tries to ignore him he sits down on the opposite chair, playfully hums while he's drumming with his fingers on the table. She looks up, signs and closes the book.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, not trying to sound polite or pleasant.

He smiles. "What does it look like? I want to talk with you!"

She starts wiring a blond strand of hair around her slender finger. "About what? I thought you were out training."

"I am! But that doesn't prevent me from taking week-ends, does it?"

"If you want to become the best you have to lay everything aside besides from training." Her voice is unsure; she only said that to keep the distance between them. He wonders why she's so eager to do that. Maybe she isn't as unemotional towards him as she wants to state.

"Listen, Cynthia, I don't really care about your age. I want to talk to you. You know – general talk. Is that a crime?"

She licks her lips and places a hand on the book. "No… But it's not appropriate"

"Says who? You?"

"No. Honor."

* * *

Barry plays in a different league, uses different methods, different gestures, but even though he's different the reality remains solid as a tundra of Winter's time.

* * *

"I remember when I was little and thought that Bidoof was a rock-type!"

"What? Why the hell did you think that? That's not even logical."

"I don't know. I was stupid."

"You _are_ stupid, don't you mean?"

"Hey! That wasn't very nice!"

"I know. Sorry. But you don't seem like the _logical, super nerd _boy to me."

"I'm gonna prove that you're wrong, Cynthia."

"I look forward to it."

"You better do."

* * *

She understands that she wants him. She understands that she has fallen to him. She understands that it's impossible for her to have him.

"You really have a lot of stories to tell", she says as they walk around the park just outside the League. The sunset behind them seems to add some cozy expression to the scenery and he can't help but to feel relieved by the fact that she seems to have forgotten the sturdy, adult-attitude at home and treats him like a compeer. She looks even more stunning when she smiles, when she enthusiastically waves her hands when she tells him about some stories from _her _childhood, the way her eyes wander when she listens, when her nose wrinkles as she laughs – he knows that nothing has change, her secret content attracts him even more (if that's possible) than before, and he wants her. He so wants her. It's hard to keep his hands firm; Cynthia is so damn perfect, and oh, how wonderful life would be if he isn't the only one that feels like this.

"Of course. I'm such a brave guy that I don't back off from a challenge", he mocks and smiles, is able to make her smile as well. "Enough with irony, but I'm not afraid to embarrass myself. I don't worry about unnecessary things. Life is hard as it is, you don't have to make it bigger. I fall sometimes, I cry sometimes, but I can walk away from it, learn from it, reach my dreams."

"I really admire that ability", she smiles with her calm voice and looks in the sky, the shine of red reflecting in her gray eyes. "It's so uncommon these days. People drown in their own self-negations, instead of leaving the past behind and see the road ahead. But you're not like that."

He smiles but doesn't reply, it feels superfluous. They walk further in silence, the afternoon breeze slides through his hair – it's cold, he wraps his arm around his chest in order to keep some warmth. She gives him a look, his heart thumps, cheek burn and he forgets about dignity and honor and everything she uses as excuses and hooks his arm around hers, moving closer – and to his delight pink cheeks are visible under the dusting powder. Lips separated, she wants to say something but no words come out, he doesn't care if she's unwilling because he's not.

She's older than him but she's not unreachable, as she and Lucas and Palkia and Dialga and everyone try to punch in his face, this can't be wrong, no, because he _likes_ (loves) her and love is legal, love is right, love is something favorable.

"Barry…" she murmurs at last but doesn't remove her arm. "What are you doing…"

"Can't you tell?" he answers and smiles at her black coat, inhales the smell of leather-coat and fashionable woman-perfume. "I told you the truth from the start."

"This isn't okay…"

"Let's make it okay", he tells her and kisses her on the cheek.

She blushes, closes her eyes, and realizes that words are useless in situations where the counterpart is deaf and unchangeable.

* * *

She reaches for the branch, doesn't reach and falls right into the ground.

* * *

He wonders if she's just ignoring it. It seems so. Because this isn't like Cynthia, holding his arms, kissing him deeply and removing him to insanity with her teasingly smile. He gasps and doesn't know where to put his hands; she has taking the lead now and he could only watch as she moderates her longing.

And he doesn't mind at all. But he can't help but to wonder if this isn't too easy to be true.

* * *

_No, no, NO, _the voice inside her head screams. _Yes, yes, YES, _her heart exclaims. Who is right and who is wrong? She already knows the answer to that one.

* * *

"Barry, don't you understand that this is wrong?"

She sits on a rock, seeming awfully insecure and isolated. The formal and professional mask is gone and he sees a gloomy appearance with red eyes and trembling under-lip. He wants to scream, kick something, because this can't be. She can't give up. Not now. He loves her. She loves him. How could that be wrong?

"It's not wrong, you make it wrong", he tries to tell her, moving closer, keeping an eye-contact which she breaks.

Wrong. _wrong _she says. That's the only _wrong _thing about her. She drowns in the right/wrong term and thinks _she_'s to blame even though it was he who started the carousel. Why? Why does she do that, who does she shove him away even though they're perfect together, why won't she realize that they're a fairytale with an ending – a _happy _ending?

"You must think about my situation", she fumes and he notices tears in the cat-eyes and gulps, eyes like those shouldn't be filled with tears, they should burn. "I'm ten years older than you. I'm Champion and you know that media is hunting me down, exposing me to every _damn _people in the region and _no one _would accept that I play around with a little boy."

Little boy? He knows she's upset, that's why she uses those terms and it's sad that she's giving up, doesn't fight, because she states this case as "dead".

"Don't say that. I'm sorry, Cynthia, but you have to ignore the media, ignore the fact that I'm younger than you, because I love you and-"

"Don't say it", she hisses while crystal clear puddles foam down her well-marked cheeks. "It doesn't change anything. It's over. I can't. Can't do this to you."

"You can", he pleads, almost crying as well. "You can."

"No", she cries and the accusatory voice is gone, she transforms into a five-year-old girl with sparkly eyes and red nose and he can do nothing but to send out meaningless pleadings that she won't listen to. "No!"

"Cynthia… Cynthia!" he exclaims desperately and grabs her arms. "If I become stronger, then it will be okay", he says, tries to smile, tries to sound hopeful. "I will become stronger. I will mature. This can't end. You hear me – _this can't end_."

He leans forward and kisses her on the unwillingly shut lips and then bashes up, to the mountains, to the clouds.

* * *

She hates herself, she really does. And it's unbelievable that Barry still claims that he loves her, after after the broken heart and tears spilled.

* * *

He returns after three month, notices that the Elite Four still can't even scratch his Pokémon and when he reaches Cynthia again, he wonders how she will react. He doesn't know. That the problem; she may even have put a stroke over the "we" thing and has moved on. He will never know before he stands before her again, the only thing he knows that he still loves her and has to try again before he throw the memory of the blonde heroine into the ocean.

* * *

She's happy when she sees him again. She's sad that it won't change anything though.

* * *

"You lost again, Barry", she states, almost sounding gloomy and lost in the cave. "You promised that you would win."

He shakes his head. "I didn't. I promised that I would be better than before. And I am."

"You sure are." She lets her arms hang, bits on a blonde curl, right hand desperately clenched to Garchomp's Pokéball.

"Come on, Cynth…" He walks forward to the woman, completely ignoring the stupid referee and looks her straight in the eyes. She backs of, only a little, then looks back. "I miss you…"

The words tincture down and to his surprise she smiles.

"I miss you too."

* * *

She repeats. That's what she does. She repeats the failure. That's what she does.

* * *

_Barry, the temperature here in Hoenn is terrific! I want to just doze off on the beach but I can't, I have to attend to these meetings with Hoenn's Elite Four and just between you and me – it's boring. _

_I hope you're well!_

_Kind regards, Cynthia._

He throws the letter in the trash-can, then picks it up again and reread the sentences he hated from the beginning. He doesn't want this. He doesn't want these words drenched in the formality that don't mean anything. He wants _her_, he wants to know how she's thinking, about them, about the future. Damn that conference in Hoenn that spoils everything, she has to move to a completely different region, increasing the distance even more. He doesn't want letters that are only written because she _has to_, because it's the right thing to do, he has no idea if she _wants _to, if she feels that she's ready to drop the dignity and frights and just walk forward with him – but in the end he knows nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"What are you doing?" Dawn asks as she walks into his messy room, covered by dirty clothes and plastic bags. Her feet tiptoe over the visible spots in the mess, he looks up, wonders what she's doing here and then feels ashamed because Dawn is a friend and Dawn only wants to be nice. Over her head he hears the clock ticks, one, two, and then she notices the letters in his lap. "Who are they from?"

"No one", he snaps, shrinking in age (again.) She signs, sits down on the unmade bed and turn on the television while combing her hair. He frowns, then looks at the screen as she. It's a reportage, he notices but doesn't really care until the reporter mentions Cynthia's name. He stares, hugging the pillow, leaning his chin on his legs. Dawn gives him a questioning glance but he doesn't bother to declare what Cynthia really means for him. She has Lucas, she wouldn't understand the situation anyways.

Afterwards, he wishes that he'd never seen the reportage.

"_So it's have been spotted that the Champion of Sinnoh may have a thing for the famous archeologist Steven Stone, further covering may state the rumors to be true and-"_

He turns of the television. And cries.

Cries, cries and _cries _and Dawn watches, then hugging him and he hugs back because his heart is broken and he doesn't understand how Cynthia could broke up with him while serving his emotions on a plate.

Is it going to end like this? It can't end like this.

But it does.

* * *

She now knows who she really loves. She probably has known that all along.

* * *

They meet again when she returns from Hoenn, this time the roles are reversed, she smiles and he glares she walks up to him and he crosses his arms. He has long thought of this as over. Doesn't she understand that?

But he has to get an answer. Why. Only that. Then he would ask her to leave him alone. For the future. Forever.

"So, have you married Steven Stone yet?" he asks, sounding unbelievable rude but he doesn't care anymore. He stopped to do that a long time ago.

She gives him a puzzled look. "What?"

He fumes. She watches. He black-outs… maybe it's… "Aren't you and Steven…"

"No. We're just colleagues."

"B-But… media…"

"Since when has media been trustful?"

And everything falls. Falls down. It didn't end. It didn't end. She is Cynthia. She's trustful. She's the one he thought she was.

He smiles. She smiles back. He kisses her. She kisses back.

He's happy.

* * *

And after that, Cynthia can declare that she believes in fairy-tales, just like him.

* * *

fin

* * *

N/A: Wow. This pairing is just... I don't know. It's strange and I haven't seen much of it around but I think the story turned out pretty desent so I might as well upload it :) Tell me what you think and if you want me to write about other rare couples; tell me about it! Thank you for reading!


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